The Murder Exchange (41 page)

Then I heard movement over by the side of the
house. Turning round, trigger finger tensed, I saw
Tugger coming back round. Shoot him, my instincts
screamed. Shoot the bastard now! Except he was
staggering drunkenly, not seeming to focus on anything.
He stumbled, then fell to his knees, eyes
making contact with mine, surprise in them, blood
dribbling down his chin.

Instinctively, I started to run towards him, and
that was when I saw the knife sticking straight
out of his back, only an inch of blade still visible,
and there was something in his eyes, and his mouth
was opening in a desperate effort to speak. It

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looked like he was trying to warn me of something^

And then I heard footsteps coming round fj
from behind the van, and the next thing I knew
something smashed hard into my face, knocking*
me completely off balance. I felt the gun drop front ' my hand and I fell to my knees, my vision blurring *
into watery colours. Someone was standing above Jr
me and whoever it was had what looked like a If
sharpened spade in his hand. He hit me again, this
time in the side of the head, and I felt my face ~
smack against the concrete drive. ^

I was still conscious but couldn't seem to move.
Vaguely, I heard my assailant walk over and pick
up my gun, and I knew that this was it. The end.
Strangely the blows seemed to have knocked all thi fear out of me as well. My head ached ferociously _
and I was still having difficulty focusing, butS
slowly, I rolled over and lifted my head up, wanting
to at least take a look at the man who was about
to kill me.

'How are you feeling, Max?' asked a smiling Joe
Riggs, the shovel in his hands.

Even in my dazed state, I felt the shock surge
through me. 'Joe,' I managed to say, through split
and bloody lips, 'what the fuck are you doing?'

'Getting payback, Max. Getting payback.'

I spat blood out of my mouth and managed to si|
up. I still couldn't believe that it was Joe who'dl
killed Krys and the others. 'Why? What for? I
thought you were dead. I kept your share. I wasj
waiting here for you.'

'I know you were,' he said. 'I was watching,
fact, I was back here before you were.'

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My whole world seemed like it was as blurred as
my vision. 'Why?' I managed to ask again.

Joe stared down at me grimly. There was no
humanity in his eyes, just a quiet intensity. I'd
already come round to the fact that I was going to
die but couldn't work out whether the bang on the
head was causing me to see things or whether it
really was true that my friend and business partner \\-?.« going to be the one doing the killing. 'Why
these blokes? Because it's business. They mean
nothing to me. Not your friend, Hexham, who's a
fucking coward, not Kalinski, not even Tugger
Lewis. He was an OK bloke but nothing special,
and I remember once he fucked me over in a game
of cards. Cheated, and took money off me that
vv^ii't his. I don't forget things like that.'
'But why me, Joe? What did I ever do to you?'
'You killed my wife, Max. You killed my wife.'
'What the fuck are you--?' I never finished the
question. I saw Joe raising the spade, the metal
gleaming in the moonlight, and threw up my arms
to protect my face as it came crashing down on my
elbows, blade first, sending a searing pain up them.
I fell backwards and lay there, curled up in a ball. 'I
don't know what you're talking about, Joe/ I said,
my voice muffled by the fact that my arms were still
pressed close to my face. 'Honest, I don't.'

'Modern technology, Max. That's your problem.
You remember Dietrich Fenzer, the guy who got
convicted? Well, he committed suicide six months
ago, still protesting his innocence. Said he definitely
saw and argued with Elsa that night but that he
never killed her. Three weeks ago, I got a call from

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the German authorities, saying that they were
reopening the case. Apparently they'd started to get
their own doubts about it, and they looked again at
DNA samples taken from Elsa's body at the time,
and after further investigation it turned out that
they didn't come from Fenzer at all.' He stopped
and struck me hard across the back, making me cry
out in pain. Too late for him, but it got me thinking
back. Because you see, at the time, I knew she was
having affairs with other men. It upset me, but I
could tolerate it because I really fucking loved her.
But I remember things she said, things that made
me think that maybe one of the men she was having
an affair with was you.'

'Joe, I swear--'

The spade came down again, this time on my
fingers. I heard several of them break but didn't
move them, knowing that to do so would invite a
further blow to my exposed head. I clenched my
teeth hard against the excruciating pain.

'I always tried to push those thoughts out of my
head because you were Max Iversson, my good
mate, my fucking drinking buddy.'

'I was. I am.'

'Like fuck you are!' he snarled, smacking me
again on the broken fingers. I wailed with the pain,
my eyes watering. I wondered how much more of
this I could stand. 'But then the copper who phoned
me said they were looking again at the soldiers on
the base at the time because they believed that
several of them had been having affairs with her,
and I got to thinking about how you'd been after
the murder, and how jittery you were, and that

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maybe, just maybe, if they hadn't arrested Fenzer
so quick I would have probably ended up suspecting
you, even though you were my friend. And
then I also thought that if you'd seen her arguing
with Fenzer then maybe you could have planted
the weapon you used in his house--'

'Please, Joe ... please. I didn't do it, I swear.'

I felt the edge of the spade cut deep into my thigh
as Joe brought it down with all his strength.
Instinctively, I grabbed at the wound with one of
my battered hands, feeling the blood gurgle out,
and Joe lifted the spade high above his head ready
to strike. 'Why don't you just admit it, Max? Why
don't you just fucking admit it? I know you--'

The gunshot cracked across the still night air and
suddenly Joe's expression changed from rage to
mild surprise. He stumbled, and the spade fell from
his hands, clanking loudly on the concrete. A
second shot rang out, and this time he fell forwards,
narrowly missing me, and rolled over. Within a
couple of seconds he'd stopped moving.

Slowly and painfully, I manoeuvred my body
round so I could see who the shooter was. Tugger
was holding the gun, a .38 by the looks of things,
different to the one he'd been holding when he'd
bumped into me in the hallway. He was still lying
on the ground, having propped himself up on one
elbow to deliver the shots, and he looked close to
death. His eyes seemed glazed and the blood was
still coming out of his mouth. The knife, too,
remained firmly embedded in his back.

Somehow I managed to stagger to my feet,
wincing as I used my broken fingers to lift myself

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i

1!

up. I limped over to lugger, still holding my bleeding
leg, but he was fading fast.

He rolled onto his side and coughed violently. A
thick load of gluey blood and phlegm emerged,
winding its way slowly towards the ground. I sat
down in front of him, trying to think what I could
do to save his life, but knowing it was a lost cause.
His eyes tried to focus on me but they couldn't.
Finally, he spoke, slowly but emphatically, the
effort looking like it might prove too much for him
at any time.

'I don't cheat at cards,' was all he said. Then he
rolled onto his back and died.

For a long time I watched him, my mind so torn up
by what had happened that I found it impossible to
think straight and to come to terms with events.
Eventually I forced myself to my feet and staggered
towards the van, knowing that I had to get that flight
to Bermuda if it was the last thing I ever did.

I had difficulty turning the key to let myself into her
apartment, but managed it on the third go. It was
five past seven in the morning and I looked a mess,
probably the worst I'd ever looked. My eyes had
been blackened, my lips were split, and I had a
long, deep cut across my forehead. Three fingers
were broken and the wound in my thigh looked
like it might be getting infected. It had been a
bastard of a journey to get here, but I'd made it.

The apartment was dark. I didn't call her name,
figuring that she was probably asleep. I needed
sleep too, more than I'd ever needed it. I was going
to have to get myself cleaned up before she saw me,

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otherwise the poor woman would get the shock of
her life, but it was going to have to wait.

I walked down the hall to the bedroom and
slowly opened the door. It was dark in there
and the curtains were drawn, but I could make out
her figure under the sheets. It was the most
welcoming sight I thought I'd ever seen. I put the
holdall on the floor and removed my jacket and
shirt, chucking them down too. When I was naked,
I checked my wounds again, and saw that my thigh
was still oozing blood. I was going to have to bandage
it before getting in beside her.

'Max? Is that you?' Elaine sat up in bed, rubbing
her eyes. 'What are you doing here? I thought you
Tvere coming back later.'

Nothing. Don't worry. I'm coming to bed in a
moment/

She switched on the bedroom light and gasped.
'What the fuck's happened to you? Have you been
attacked?'

I think I might have managed a grim smile. Tou
could say that. Look, don't worry about it. I'm OK,
I promise.'

'Christ, come here.' She stepped out of bed,
dressed only in a baby doll nightie, and for a
moment I felt my troubles fading. It's amazing
what female flesh can do for a man. We embraced,
and I kissed her on the mouth, ignoring the pain in
my lips. 'It's good to have you back/ she
whispered, looking up at me, her fingers stroking
my inner thigh. In spite of everything that had
happened, I began to get a hard on. 'Did you get the
money OK?'

387

I smiled as her fingers drifted across to my balls,
and motioned towards the holdall. Teah, I got the
money. And I think I've earned it.'

Gallan

I yawned. It was early, far too early for a Sunday,
but it was all about surprise. Confront your quarry
when they least expect it. However, quarter past
seven on a Sunday morning could almost be
construed as harassment. I was sure a clever lawyer
would see it that way, but I'd worry about that later.
I didn't want to waste any time. With all the
absentees on the Matthews case, it was good to get
the chance to speak to someone who was still
actually around.

I crossed the road and walked up to the entrance
of the apartment building. An attractive middle
aged lady in jogging gear was coming out. I smiled
at her, and she automatically kept the door open for
me to walk through. Very careless, particularly in a
city like London. I could have been anyone. I didn't
complain, though, since it made my job easier. Just
smiled and thanked her, and she smiled back.

When I was inside, I started up the stairs.

Iversson

She pulled me towards her, kissing me hard, her
tongue slithering and tumbling into my mouth
like a three-legged lizard. 'We're rich, baby. Rich

388

beyond our wildest fucking dreams.' She laughed
out loud, stroking my cock while I let loose with the
old moans of pleasure, beginning to forget all my
various aches and pains. Bending down in front of
me, she brushed her lips across my nipple, gently
nibbling it, before sinking slowly down to her
knees in a way that was guaranteed to bring forth a
bout of premature ejaculation. I let out a thin gasp
like a hamster's squeak as she slowly swallowed
me up, all the time gazing up at me with those big
brown bedroom eyes.

I smiled down at her, then let my eyes drift
around the room as I tried to stop myself from
coming, eager to prolong things as long as possible.
My battered face stared back at me from the
mirror on the opposite wall, grinning stupidly. I
focused on it for a moment as Elaine's tongue
created sensations I could hardly stand.

And then, as I was beginning to turn away, I saw
it. A wicked-looking silencer coming into view.
Pointing straight towards the back of my head. I
heard the creak of a floorboard behind me and
knew immediately that I was one second away
from death.

In one single movement I threw myself against
the wall, ignoring the pain as Elaine bit me in the
shock of my sudden withdrawal, and lashed out
with my arm, knocking the gun flying. Its owner, a
stocky bloke in a baseball cap, looked momentarily
shocked. I took my chance and jumped forward,
grabbing him as best I could and headbutting him
on the bridge of his nose. The cut on my forehead
immediately reopened but the gunman had been

389

hurt. He took a step backwards but quickly recovered
himself, delivering a sudden flurry of
rabbit punches to my kidneys as he struggled to
break my grip.

Every part of my body seemed to be burning
with pain, and blood from the head wound was
dripping down my forehead and into my eyes. But
I knew I couldn't give up. I had to protect us.

Summoning all my strength, I headbutted the
gunman again and wrestled him through the bedroom
door and out into the hallway, banging him
hard against the opposite wall. His cap fell off,
revealing a hairless head beneath, and for some
reason this seemed to give him a renewed burst of
strength, like Samson in reverse. He cursed and
managed to push me away, before trying but failing
to deliver a punch to my bollocks. I gasped as he
got a better shot to my ribs, and took a step back as
if hurt, before charging forward, head bowed like a
bull, and delivering another ferocious headbutt
right to the chin. Something cracked in there and
the gunman made a sound half like a cough, half
like a scream. Realizing my head was my best
weapon, I shoved him back against the wall, then
swung round so my back was facing him and
delivered a skull-jarring reverse butt. His resistance
simply evaporated and he slid down the wall,
unconscious.